


Oysters

by travellinghopefully



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-05
Updated: 2015-08-05
Packaged: 2018-04-13 04:41:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4508205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/travellinghopefully/pseuds/travellinghopefully
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Doctor encounters River - has the possibility of being expanded into something longer - but too long for a "Fragment."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Oysters

Leaning against the far wall, watching her.

They weren’t oysters and that wasn’t hot sauce, but they were this world’s equivalent.

He had never seen the point of oysters, but watching her tip her head back and swallow the wet, salty, slippery mouthful, sent blood rushing away from his brain. His mouth was dry, his palms itched. He adjusted his stance in an attempt to counteract the sudden, uncomfortable tightness of his trousers.

He forgot everything else in the room, looking at how the light fell on her skin, the golden untamed mane of her hair, her full soft lips and how the soft fabric of her dress flowed over her perfectly rounded arse, and how the same material barely covered her breasts.

He unconsciously licked his lips and twitched slightly as he ached to touch her.

He didn’t know when this was, he didn’t know if she had seen this face before. He was tired, he was lonely and he had missed her so much. Every meeting tainted by the knowledge of her death. The poignancy of their first meeting intensifying with every subsequent encounter. Every time he’d said goodbye and tucked his grief away again, and then the fresh miracle of stumbling across her in a forgotten corner of the universe. 

He tried to think what untapped archaeological wonder might have lured her here, or maybe she was with someone else –a flare of jealousy so intense it made his vision cloud.

There was no mistaking her from where he stood, he would never not recognise her, but he couldn’t quite gauge her age, never sure what had or hadn’t happened yet.

“Hello, sweetie,” she purred in his ear. Grabbing the lapels of his coat and pulling him into a bruising kiss.

It was too much and not enough, his River, she knew him, but this face hadn’t met her yet. 

He struggled to respond, and not flail his arms.

“What is it love?”

What to say, how to convey everything?

“When did you last see me? Has Trenzalore happened for you?” Anything to avoid her shushing him, scolding him, and saying “spoilers”.

He rubbed his cheek against the hand she held to his face.

She nodded, still holding him.

He couldn’t form sentences, he tried to tell her that it had been a thousand years for him, all he could manage was to slump forward and rest his head against her.

She placed soft kisses against his head, murmured endearments and said “oh love,” over and over to soothe him, help him find a still point in the maelstrom. She knew, how long he’d been alone, what a struggle it was for him to drag himself back, to interact, to allow anyone to touch him. 

He could feel himself shivering.

....................................................................................................................

 

His head was cradled in her lap and her fingers softly carded through his hair, still murmuring soft words to him.

She stood up, allowing him to rest back fully on the sofa, making him promise to stay still. She shimmied out of her remaining clothes, making sure to turn round and bend down when taking off her knickers, giving the Doctor one of his favourite views. His fingers flexed against the armrest, impatient to hold her, to touch her again.

As she did so, an ornate necklace fell to the floor.

She half turned meeting his questioning gaze.

“Well you didn’t think I was there just for the buffet did you?”

He idly contemplated just how significant the necklace was, religious artefact, a starter of crusades, or merely beautiful? 

She picked up the necklace from the floor and wearing only that, she came back to sit astride him.

He traced his fingers over the jewels, watching how the light danced in them. He lifted her hair out of the way so he could taste and suck on the delicate skin of her throat. She threw her head back and gave a throaty laugh, grasping the velvet of his coat in her fists and rotating her hips, just so, against him.

His breath hissed between his teeth and his mouth dropped to take one of her nipples between his lips. Moving a hand between her legs, just sliding gently against her, tracing words in Galifreyan, not entering her, not touching her clit, but enough to infuriate her. She pulled him back to her mouth, kissing him deliberately, intensely, passionately. If he wasn’t going to touch her the way she wanted, she was going to grind herself shamelessly against him, then maybe he would get the idea.


End file.
